


Back From Onderon

by Eisenschrott



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels, Star Wars: Rise of Empire Era - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2016-02-26
Packaged: 2018-05-23 09:03:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6111604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eisenschrott/pseuds/Eisenschrott
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Young Kallus, his only known friend, Coruscant junk food, and the aftermath of a tragic first mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Back From Onderon

It was hard enough to breathe, this down in the Lower Levels. The fat, saucy aromas from the foam boxes Lieutenant Jovan was carrying in a bag contributed gleefully to the Coruscanti air pollution. The Corellian beer cans rattled against each other as if to applaud the effort.

Standing in front of the door and pressing a thumb to the lock, he wondered if the scanner examining him right now would classify the food and drinks as chemical weapons, and deny him access. But within a couple seconds, the door hissed open.

Jovan stepped into the small vestibule, cluttered with discarded boots, a fleximetal cuirass and a uniform jacket, all streaked with black dirt. Lights were on, and all doors—dining room, ‘fresher, bedroom—closed. “Hey, pal!” No answer. “I brought dinner!” He waited. One. Two. Three. Four—

The dining room door opened and Kallus appeared on the threshold, leaning against the door jamb. He’d stripped to his trousers and undershirt, and most of his visible skin on shoulders and arms was dappled with bruises.

“You look like trampled bantha shit,” said Jovan. “Please tell me you let a medidroid give you a look.”

Kallus shrugged. When Jovan’s stare didn’t leave him, he blurted out, “Nothing is broken. I’m fine.”

 _Yeah, sure, ‘fine’_. Jovan sashayed into the dining room, passing an arm over Kallus’ shoulders and steering him towards the couch.

The bag of foodstuff was dropped atop the orderly stacks of datapads on the tray table.

Usually Kallus would have protested. Instead, he said nothing.

Jovan gently pushed him down to sit on the couch, and thrust a beer can in his lap. “Appetizers first. Taanab spring rolls are still your favourites, aren’t they?”

“Actually, I’m not very hun—” A feral growl from his stomach cut Kallus mid-sentence. He immediately cast his eyes down, to the beer can his hands were clutching.

Without a word, Jovan fished two foam boxes from the bag and placed one on the arm of the couch next to Kallus; before flopping down at his side, he switched on the Holonet projector at minimum volume and zapped through the channels until he found a sports broadcast.

“Ahh, good old Boonta Eve Classic!” He kicked off his boots and laid back, crossing his legs and popping the box open.

Kallus groaned. “Podracing! You can’t be serious.”

“Would you rather watch a porn?”

“No.”

“Mightn’t be too bad, you know? It could give us a few ideas—”

“Shut up.” Kallus ripped off the pin of the can and took a long swig. About damn time. Jovan took off his gloves and cap, and relaxed on the not too comfortable pillow and its synth-cotton coverlet, following the podracers on the holoscreen.

From time to time he glanced sideways; Kallus eventually surrendered to the lure of food, and after a few controlled nibbles he chomped the four deep-fried rolls whole one after the other.

Jovan put aside his own box and dived for the bag on the table: a beer for him, and the main course for Kallus. The other man wrinkled his nose and tore his face away.

“Don’t tell me that mess on Onderon,” _damn it, might as well address the Krayt dragon in the room_ , “had anything to do with nerf-burgers!”

Kallus didn’t flinch at the mention. “It’s the smell. Put me off for a moment.”

Jovan opened the box and sniffed the ‘burger. “Hm. Overgrilled straight out of the nine hells, you’re right.” He, too, was familiar with the stench of blaster-scorched flesh; thinking about it, this wasn’t too different. Better file in a request to HQ for an investigation to the fast food restaurant where he’d bought the ‘burgers. Wouldn’t be the first time a slaughterhouse processed sentient slaves’ meat.

He took aim and threw the box and the ‘burger inside it in the garbage chute at the corner of the room. Whatever creature the meat had belonged to, it was waste now. Like those blast-burned corpses on a distant war-torn planet.

“Shithole of a galaxy,” he muttered, and downed a quarter of his beer in one gulp.

“I agree.” Kallus pulled up his legs and hugged his knees; he’d grown up into a big man since the academy days, and the couch gave out a soft creak. Jovan pulled the coverlet from under himself, and deftly draped it across Kallus’ back with one hand while holding the beer in the other.

“I will make it right, though.” Kallus lifted the can to his lips, but didn’t drink. “A safe and peaceful place. I… I owe it to the boys.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Tawny-brown eyes flickered towards him. The glint in that look made Jovan bite his tongue.

“I was their commander,” he hissed. “I should have been the first to die. Why am I the only one who didn’t?”

Jovan rolled his eyes, hoping it wasn’t too blatant a way to avert his gaze, towards the holoscreen. A podracer had just crashed against a rock spike and burst into a fireball. Most relatable sport ever. “Find that Lasat mercenary and ask him. Before you blast his brains off.”

“The Director asked me the same question at the debriefing. Why me? Why me?” The beer can crackled in his fist. He was breathing hard now. Jovan looked up again from the race—Slide Paramita, that old fossil, had gassed up into the final lap first in the lead pack—and, after an instant of risk evaluation, shuffled flank-to-flank to Kallus. There was a bit of five o’ clock shade around his trim sideburns.

“Why me?”

“Hey, pal. Hey.”

It was a whisper this time, “Why me?”

Jovan stroked his hair, sticky with pomade and mussed in the shape of the helmet. “No idea, pal, but I’m glad to have you back.”

One soft, wheezing breath at a time, Kallus slumped into the hold, until his face was buried in Jovan’s shoulder.

Another podracer exploded, Jovan didn’t notice how and why. Happened all the time in the galaxy, and only a few of the dead mattered. _Good luck making it a safe place, you poor bastard_.


End file.
